


But Why Do I Feel (That I Want More)

by ASadWeeGhostie



Series: For The Sake of Law and Order [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Apologies, Christmas, Christmas Party, Dirty Thoughts, F/M, Gen, Interrupted, Kissing, Mistletoe, Sexual Tension, That Incident At The Christmas Party
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-27
Updated: 2020-11-27
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:53:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27742549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ASadWeeGhostie/pseuds/ASadWeeGhostie
Summary: Then, one moves to the nape of his neck and begins to wind into the curls of his hair. It’s pleasant, nice to the point where his eyes flutter against her cheek and oh...he still doesn’t want to stop. He feels lightheaded, dizzy, but his mind is quiet with something akin to excitement as her hands pull him closer, his own moving to her hip to fist in the tight fabric.-Molly tells Sherlock he's cruel. Sherlock finds an appropriate way to show her how he really feels.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/Molly Hooper
Series: For The Sake of Law and Order [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2010976
Comments: 9
Kudos: 79





	But Why Do I Feel (That I Want More)

There isn't a moment when he's being clever that he thinks to stop. He's always just too clever, too desperate to be right that he tramples all over his fri- ...his mortici-... His Molly. His jealousy and pride makes him a fool, a mockery of anything with any actual importance the moment his eyes land on the tag written in Molly's handwriting. He's left speechless, the silence an ugly reminder that sometimes he needs to learn when to shut up. He waits for her anger, her tears with something akin to dread in banding tightly around his lungs. But Molly, sweet, kind, Molly...

“You always say such awful things,”

Her lips purse, but it’s her eyes, her eyes that make him release the breath he couldn't before. His sense of importance only deflates as she takes a deep shuddering breath. There is genuine hurt on her face and for once Sherlock experiences an emotion he rarely expresses:

He’s  _ sorry _ .

It burns in his gut, sharp against the flesh like the glimmer of tears in her eyes are daggers that are meant to slice him down to the bone. She continues, shaking her head and the disappointment makes him nauseous like nothing ever has. He looks away, to put down the present so he doesn’t crush it before he turns back and almost begs for her forgiveness.

“I am sorry,” The words sound false, dull and bland in the way he doesn’t want them to. He wants to get on his knees and plead with her, something he has to fight with his pride to not do, “Forgive me,”

She just blinks, and her mouth turns down that makes him want to force it back into the happy go lucky smile she always wears. Her hair swings with the shake of her head and he panics, not able to lose his Molly which is when he twigs. And closes his eyes. 

Sherlock would give anything at that moment to not have an audience watching them. He would, if only so that I didn’t have to share it. His eyes stay closed as he takes a deep breath, opening them once to trace over Molly’s face just once before he leans down. Her earrings twinkle, her hair soft as it brushes his forehead and her cheek is soft under his lips. 

And within a second it’s over, both of them just staring at each other before The Woman interrupts and he moves away again, ignoring the conversation like he always wants to. He turns away, skips off like he’s interested in the text (which he is, he always loves a good case) but his mind is stuck back in the main room where Molly is flirting and laughing and hiding her hurt like she’s absolutely okay. But Sherlock knows, so he makes a plan and lays low until there is a moment between them.

And that moment is in the stairwell when she steps out for a moment to breathe. He waits, debates letting the moment go as he hides in the shadows but he refuses to be a coward. He’s fought murderers, looked a psychopath in the eye and almost swallowed poison. So Sherlock is brave enough to do this.

“Molly,” he breathes her name, soft and low. She turns, jumping with a little gasp and her eyes glitter in the dark like the dimante of her dress. She cuts an attractive figure, and he has to swallow with the knowledge that she did it all to impress him. It didn’t work the first time, but now it’s all he can think of, the way it clings to her hips and thighs like a second skin. It makes him wonder what sits below again, an image of Molly in his chair wearing nothing but her own comfort as she sips tea. The thought makes his mouth dry, even as they both just stare at each other almost stupidly whilst the sounds of cheerful merriment continue in the flat. Neither of them speak, but the tenacity of the moment is so loud it’s almost roaring. Her eyes are curious, warm and brown and too look pointedly up at the mistletoe that hangs between them. 

The moment Molly sees it, her cheeks bloom in a flush of red against the cream of her skin. He almost wants to smile at it, but his hands shake from the anxiety so hard he can’t think about it. It costs everything in him to take a single step closer to her. And then another. And another until Molly almost brushes against him. Her perfume flirts across his nose as she takes shallow breaths, eyes wide and lips parted. Sherlock commits it to memory, fingers trembling as his hands rise to cup her face, leaning down just enough that her exhalation dances across his mouth.

His fingertips rest on her face as she looks up at him. She chews on her lip, teeth a bright white even in the barely lit stairwell as she takes a shuddering breath. Her voice is timid, almost quiet when she starts, “Sherlock-,”

His name on her lips is enough to give him the courage to do it.

Molly’s mouth is surprisingly soft, gentle against his. He doesn’t like the feel of the lipstick admittedly, but he can deal with it with her soft face cupped in his hands. He brushes his thumbs over her cheekbones and she melts closer into him. It’s...nice. Nicer than he expected. Nice enough that...that he doesn’t want to stop. Instead he tilts his head, deepens it slightly as her hands come up to rest on his shoulders. Then, one moves to the nape of his neck and begins to wind into the curls of his hair. It’s pleasant, nice to the point where his eyes flutter against her cheek and oh...he still doesn’t want to stop. He feels lightheaded, dizzy, but his mind is quiet with something akin to excitement as her hands pull him closer, his own moving to her hip to fist in the tight fabric. It’s velvet, soft and warm under his hand and he starts doing the calculation on how long it will take for him to carry her upstairs to the bedroom and strip-

“Sherlock!” 

They spring apart, caught like teenagers kissing in a room at a party. His breath whooshes out of him, staring wide eyed at Molly who pushes him further back into the shadows with a hissed, “Sherlock!”

It’s only Mrs Hudson, almost a little too drunk to open the door but when she does it’s with a beaming smile, “Hullo, Molly!”

Molly nervously shifts on her heels, elbowing Sherlock back into the shadows more when he tries to stop forward. She shoots him a rather obvious glare as she lies through her teeth, “Hello, Mrs Hudson. I was just...um...grabbing my lipstick!” she smiles, not a hair out of place and Sherlock suddenly realises why she keeps pushing him back, carefully swiping a hand over his own mouth to find that he’s painted more than she is. Her nervous glances start to make sense, but he’s pleased to notice the flush of her colour bones is as pink as her cheeks. _ Sexual arousal _ . 

It...it makes him feel almost proud, like he wants to smirk about the fact that he elicited a basic biological response. A response that everyone else will see when she walks back into the room. It’s then he becomes aware of the situation in his trousers, almost surprised to find that he too has been susceptible to the shared attraction. He cringes further into the shadows, watching as Molly convinces Mrs Hudson that she’s right behind her, and yes, Sherlock is absolutely fine don’t worry about him.

(He’s not fine.)

Molly, framed in the light of the doorway glances back at him, a half cocked smile at the corner of her mouth. The light only highlights how truly beautiful she is, the tease in her eyes as she whispers, “Clean yourself up, Sherlock,”

His head hits against the wall with a loud thunk, and he glances down at his trousers. Given half a minute more, and he probably would have needed some extra clean up anyways.

But why...why does he feel...that he  _ wants  _ more?

**Author's Note:**

> WOW, I did not expect the response I got! Thank you to everyone who left comments and kudos, I was really shocked. I dunno where the Sherlolly's hang but I'd like to come join you, I'm nice I promise! I'm working on the next installment as we speak, and I plan on continuing this series until the end of season 4. 
> 
> If there is anything you need tagged, please don't hesitate to let me know! Comments and Kudos as so kind, and thank you to everyone who leaves one!


End file.
